


Just Desserts

by KitsuneKami



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Some Smut, Infernal Intervention, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Pining, Protective Crowley, The first day of the rest of their lives, Trope it baby!, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), divine intervention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 14:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20137063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsuneKami/pseuds/KitsuneKami
Summary: Heaven and Hell hope to get their best (and only) agents on Earth back to their respective duties and they're willing to employ all means necessary to convince the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale to take back their jobs.orWhere Crowley goes touching things he shouldn't have and gets hit by a very, very bad case of Lust.





	Just Desserts

It was probably the worst time to fret over nothing, but Aziraphale couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

He puttered about his shop with his brow drawn. He would pick up a book and drop it down once more. Move Crowley's plants from the sill, only to return them in a few minutes. He was feeling uneasy, and a being like him did not live this long without learning to heed their gut. But really, what was there to worry about?

Aziraphale sighed, glanced at the clock _again_ and told himself that Crowley will be by in a few hours and he would feel better soon enough. The demon will tease him for a bit, something about being too paranoid and to come off it, and they would have dinner at that new cafe and everything will be alright.

Right. The angel told himself, its all alright. Just jittery after the whole anti-christ affair. Nothing to it. That was nearly 6 months ago and its done and everything was quiet. He had received a memo today anyway, signed by Gabriel, a request to get back to work as per the old usual and a small side note to the tune of 'please get back to doing what you do because Good doesn't Rest and to please send our regards to the demon as well. Please enjoy the contents'.

Aziraphales brow had rose at that; give their regards to the demon? Why ever for? Unless they've thought about it long and hard and had decided that keeping on the good graces of both ethereal and occult beings on the planet was the smarter option. Cover all their bases as it were. Especially if Heaven wants Aziraphale back on duty, they probably, reluctantly came to agree that the principality had to be placated with something. Being civil with the demon looked like the best option. That raised a brow from Aziraphale but he would be lying if he didn't admit to himself that that was quite nice.

There was a pastry and cakes basket of questionable depth when he peered into it and a CD of Liszt that came with the memo. Aziraphale didn't touch the contents, it didn't seem like a gift from his office would spoil anytime soon anyway - or well ever. He decided that he and Crowley could share it later. He sighed in relief, so nothing to worry about Heaven then. Everyone was eager to pretend nothing happened it seemed, and to get right back to the old routine of things.

So, nothing to it, old lad, Aziraphale told himself. Probably just excited, nothing more. Excited to see Crowley and everything and my, he guessed he could try on that new oxford shirt he had recently purchased. The man at the shop had been very, very helpful and convinced him that he could roll up the sleeves and leave off the bow tie once in a while. There were also this pair of beige (khaki the man had explained) trousers that were shorter than he would usually prefer but was well assured that it was "In The Now" Fashion and it would show off the new brown loafers. The shoes had been a stretch for him, to be sure, but the excellent leathered workmanship and the tartan trim did help its cause. The man had showed him how to put the ensemble all together 'properly' and Aziraphale had sniffed at it being quite (meaning _too_) modern; left the top few buttons open, sleeves rolled up to his elbows in a method far more complicated than just rolling up sleeves should be, and no socks (the kind man looked liked he was going to have a mild aneurysm when Aziraphale had stepped out with his mid calf socks from the 1930s). Ah well, it was very new, and Aziraphale did not do well with sudden new-ness but the man had assured him that it would be a perfect date ensemble for lunch. Throw a smart coat or jacket on and it would be appropriate for dinner.

Aziraphale thought about it some more and it did take his mind off this terrible feeling for a while. A small blush rose up his cheeks as he wondered if Crowley might like the new clothes. His foray with the cologne met with some questionable success many months ago and he had been meaning to try and make more of an effort for the demon.

So he continued on pretending to be a good book-seller instead of a rabid rare books collector who really had no intentions of selling anything, for the rest of the afternoon. He thought of what a nice surprise it would be for Crowley and that the demon will be by soon anyway and all his worrying and fretting would be proven as just that. Just worrying. He steadfastly ignored the gift basket on his desk by the till, and the note with it.

* * *

  
The late afternoon rolled by, and the customers have left and he had closed shop, and he had dressed carefully in his new attire but still no Crowley. The demon was never late. Aziraphale's worries came back in full quickly enough when half an hour had ticked by and there was still no Bentley nor demon to be seen or heard. Aziraphale worried his lip and watched the aging clock tucked in one of the shop's corners. He frowned and went to dial Crowley's number.

"Where are you old boy?" Aziraphale muttered as he listened to Crowley's phone ring endlessly without any answer. He tried both the flat number and the mobile he had been given. The old antique phone did not seem to mind that it really had no business dialing and connecting to mobile numbers, nor that it had a pretty respectable WiFi and internet bandwidth. The angel frowned after listening for 10 more minutes and decided that something must truly be wrong and that he really _should_ have listened to his gut earlier in the day.

Guiltily, he grabbed his favorite coat, shrugged it on and headed out to find Crowley. He was certain the demon was around, the pull of his aura was still clear as day. It stung Aziraphale a bit as he realized it, why hadn't he come then? Did he not want to see him? The aura was distinct and present, as it always had been and Aziraphale knew immediately where he was. He was home. This made his frown deepen, so why didn't he answer? Unless something had happened to him? A mild panic began to race through his body, remembering the bread basket from Upstairs. Did Crowley receive a memo too? But to what effect? Probably not as warm or affable as the angel's note from Upstairs. Aziraphale swallowed the dread forming in his mouth and hailed a cabbie who was just as surprised as his car to find himself suddenly on a busy street in Soho.

There were double yellow no parking lines but nobody noticed as Aziraphale tucked himself into the back seat. "To Mayfair please. Posthaste my good man."

* * *

  
The quick ride from his bookshop to the flat gave Aziraphale some time to think and consider. There were only so few possibilities why the demon wouldn't heed his calls. None of them felt good to the angel. While the prospect of hell coming to do something to Crowley gave him much dread, the other possibility laid an icier chill to his heart. What if the demon had tired of him? What if Crowley had finally decided that now that the apocalypse was over he didn't need Aziraphale anymore. The thought struck Aziraphale with no small measure of terror. He had never thought to really show the demon how he cared, he thought that the time they spent together was enough. Was it enough? They'd never really talked about it. It, being the unspoken... connection... relationship (?) between them.

Aziraphale had swallowed hard as he paid the tab, left a gracious tip and stepped off the car. He stood at the curb unable to bolt down the rising doubt and fear in his heart. He never did tell the demon he cared for him. Never tried to be really physically affectionate. Kissing and sex never seemed so important to the demon, thought Aziraphale, nor to him. Those were very mortal things, and they were anything but mortal. He had never really thought about it, though something *must* be about it, that the humans could not stop thinking about it. It was considered to be one of the highest expressions of love.

Should he have considered that? Should he have tried harder for the demon? Does Crowley even feel the same?

They were friends, that much he was sure. All these centuries together and not-together, they always found each other. And while Aziraphale sometimes fancied maybe they were more, he had always been afraid for Crowley. Surely, hell would not have liked one of their lot spending so much time with an angel - much less fraternizing with one.

The last few months have been wonderful however, Aziraphale thought wistfully. Spending so much time with the demon openly. Nobody was keeping tabs it seemed and he had grown bolder in trying to show he cared. How he was so desperately in love with the red haired flash bastard but had no more idea on how to go about it other than agreeing to the demon's temptations of lunches and dinners and walks in the park.

And now, it had seemed he had taken too long. Either hell has decided enough was enough. Or Crowley had finally tired of him. He was quite sure the latter option terrified him more. Perhaps he had gone too slow?

He looked at the ridiculously expensive flat that was the demon's and forced his legs to move. Whatever waited for him, Aziraphale vowed that he would be ready. He summoned some of his energy and a dull thrum of power came alive in his palms. Aziraphale wondered how many demons he can take on without his flaming sword but quickly realized it did not matter. He would do anything and everything for Crowley. He remembered battles from eons long past - it had been a very long time indeed but it was just like riding a bike. Once you learned how, you never quite forgot. He could only hope it was an enemy he would face. Not at all a rejection from the one being he loved the most.

Aziraphale drew himself up to his full height, metaphorically adjusted his halo and knocked on the door.

* * *

  
Nobody was answering.

And the lock held tight.

Now _that _was very irregular. Like all ethereal beings, Aziraphale experienced the world in a way that was very different to everyday mortals. Reality bowed to their expectations or assumptions, and most importantly to their will. And currently, the lock was fighting back.

"What is happening?" Aziraphale muttered carefully under his breath, focused his will a little more than he usually would and the miracle came through on his 6th snap of fingers. The door swung open and the angel stepped in warily.

He stood in the entryway, surveying the living room and foyer. Nothing was amiss, and Crowley's aura was definitely present. Aziraphale stepped forward and the door behind him swung shut with an ominous click.

"Crowley?" he called out tentatively. Everything was where he remembered they should be, tidy and clinically neat.

Aziraphale walked forward slowly and shook off his coat. The place felt warm. Very warm. He carefully laid the jacket by the sofa and explored carefully further. "Crowley?" he called out once more, but could not hide the tremble in his voice. No other demons he could sense, no scent of evil other than Crowley's. A few more steps took him to the office and the angel peered in. Da Vinci's first draft of the Mona Lisa hung solemnly beyond the desk. And upon that desk was a bouquet of flowers.

The angel drew a deep breath, out of envy or alarm, he did not know. The floral arrangement was ridiculously large and wrapped with shiny black paper burnt on the edges. It was haphazardly bundled together with some string. Aziraphale eyed the blooms slowly, and gasped quietly when he recognized several. Many gone extinct, all exceedingly rare; exotic flora the Earth has not seen in millennia. In the middle sat a flower he had only ever seen once. In the Garden. There was a discarded note next to the arrangement but Aziraphale's eyes stared at the flower. It drew him in, called him in a long dead and dangerous language. It was beautiful beyond compare, and it filled him with memories of his first days on Earth.

Aziraphale stepped forward, staring at those impossible blooms. The scent of alien sweetness hung over him and he felt warmer by some degrees. Absently he reached up and unbuttoned his shirt a couple notches from the neck. He stretched a bit, and slowly leaned down to inspect the flowers closer. He breathed in its wonderful fragrance. Oh they were captivating, and the angel suddenly could not remember why he was here. Only the calling allure of this cloying scent. He raised a hand, he imagined how the petals would feel, how soft and velvety they would be under his fingers --

"Don't touch it."

The voice snapped him out of the enchantment and Aziraphale whirled around to find Crowley standing by the door.

"Crowley!" the angel exclaimed, stepped forward and froze. The demon looked drawn, almost wild. His skin was flushed, pupils dilated wide. He seemed to be shaking with the effort of standing or staying put, Aziraphale couldn't say. He was gripping the door frame so hard, cracks were forming in the concrete. The demon had only a black silk robe on him, and from the look of things, Aziraphale surmised to be very, very sick.

"Leave." Crowley gritted out. Even speaking seemed to be a massive effort and Aziraphale stepped forward in concern. "Stop! Stop there for the love of G-Someone fuck." He snapped again, and the angel felt himself thrown back a few steps by an invisible wall of energy.

Aziraphale couldn't understand it. "Crowley, you're obviously unwell. Let me help you." he fought back with his own bolt of energy and pushed forward.

Crowley grimaced from the effort but held strong. The air crackled with battling firmament around them. "You must leave Aziraphale. Just fucking leave me alone." he said between labored breaths. "Please." He stared back at the angel with welling despair.

The angel refused to budge. "No I will not. I will not leave you alone in this condition." Aziraphale pushed back harder and whatever wall Crowley had been struggling to hold together dissipated. The demon was obviously growing weaker, judging how easily he had overcome the barrier. He stepped forward and Crowley stumbled back in terror. "What happened to you, my dear?" he hastily followed the demons staggering retreat into the living room and could not understand what was the matter.

"Sh-stop. Stop it!" Crowley growled, "I am at my limit Aziraphale. Stay away from me! You have to leave. Now." he closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. Aziraphale could see the shaking effort of the demon willing himself to stay put. Now that was alarming and most curious.

"I don't understand. Crowley?" Aziraphale stared back at him. He had expected many things when he came here, but it was certainly not this. "You're not feeling well, obviously. Why won't you let me help you?" he pleaded. He ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips nervously.

Crowley watched the angels pink tongue dart out, and that little action broke whatever struggling restraint he had left. Aziraphale didn't even realize that the demon had seized him by the shirt and had pinned him to a wall until he was staring down those wild eyes. "Because, angel." Crowley breathed raggedly against him, as he pushed closer, pressing his body neatly against the angel. There was barely any restraint there, the demon quickly losing whatever chains of control he had been clinging to. Aziraphale realized with a start that they had never, ever, been this physically close. "Because, " he breathed deeply, still obviousy trying to wrestle with himself for whatever reason. "Because angel, I want to fuck you senselesssss. I want to have you now on this wall, and on that couch. Throw you over my desk and have you every way I want in my bed. I want to --" Crowley slammed his fist into the wall next to Aziraphale's incredulous head. "Fucking flower making me fucking say thingssss."

And thats when it all suddenly clicked together for Aziraphale. The unnatural warmth in the flat, the sweet scent in the air, Crowley's feverish attempts to push him away. The flower from Eden. He remembered now why he had only ever seen it once before, recalled how he had seen its effects and how he learned to avoid that tree completely. The scent made humans, slaves to the pleasures of the flesh, and apparently, true as well for demons... and possibly angels? Aziraphale swallowed. He had not even touched its petals yet the warmth was seeping thoroughly under his skin. "C-crowley... did you, did you handle any of the blooms from the bouquet?" he forced himself to be calm, even as he suddenly felt the demon begin licking up his neck. "Crowley!"

The demon forced himself to answer, the angel's skin tasted so, so, sweet. Whether it was because Aziraphale truly did or if it was the effect of the flower, he didn't really care. "Whut?" came the ragged reply.

"Did you touch, any of the flowers?" Aziraphale forced himself to focus, to ignore the way the demon's lips felt on his skin. Use logic and find a solution, he told himself. "The one from Eden."

Crowley nuzzled closer, and Aziraphale felt something distinct pressing against his thigh. "Potted it. So rare. Couldn't stand to throw away." Crowley answered haltingly, pausing every few words to nip at the angel's earlobe. "Wasssss going to give it to you."

"Oh my." Aziraphale couldn't decide if his reply was for the information, or the fact the demon's hands had snaked around his waist.

Or the clear evidence of the Crowley's effort pressed firmly against him.

"Didn't you recog..." Aziraphale stifled a gasp as the demon bit down where the base of his neck met his shoulder - and _sucked_. "Crowley!"

That brought the demon back to some of his senses and Aziraphale could see the massive amount effort it took for him to prise himself away. Crowley forced his eyes shut, he leaned back, and shook terribly from the effort to move away. He looked just a few shades shy of losing all control. "Just leave me Azzziraphale. Leave me now."

The angel did not move.

"What the fuck issss wrong with you?!" he railed, forced himself to stagger back and away. "Leave now while you can."

Aziraphale stepped forward and matched Crowley step for step. "Do you hate me so much, my dear?" he asked quietly.

Crowley growled, why won't the angel listen to him?! Which part of leave did he not understand?! Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn angel. "Just get out of here. Before I, before I --" the words choked in his throat as his tongue remembered the skin on Aziraphales neck, the warmth the angel had radiated against him. That gasp that went straight to his groin. Oh lord - satan - help him. His lust addled mind had taken every tiny fleeting secret fantasy he had of the angel over the centuries and magnified each one a hundredfold. He groaned miserably as lurid images danced in his mind's eye.

"Before you what?"

Crowley swallowed audibly, he was losing control fast. He had never felt anything like this in all his immortal life, never entertained more than a passing thought of a kiss or a lingering touch in his most drunken and secret moments. Aziraphale was so near, so vulnerable, so easy to take, so easy to lick and kiss, and suck, and -- He roared to reel his mind back. "before I fucking do something I will regret." he snapped.

"Why? Why will you regret it?" Aziraphale still could not understand, oblivious to the heated look the demon's eyes were burning into him. What does regret have to do with anything? why?" he repeated.

Crowley grit his teeth, he did not want to answer. He really did not want to answer this one.

Aziraphale took a step forward and the demon drew back. "Why Crowley?"

"Shut up angel!"

"Just, just, answer the question. Please."

"I sssaaaaid, shut it!"

Aziraphale's eyes burned into his and pressed on. "Why would you regret it?"

"Because I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to force you." Something finally snapped in Crowley. "Because I fucking love you, you idiot!" the demon roared.

* * *

  
The dumbstruck look on Aziraphale's face made Crowley want to discorporate. A looming silence settled upon them, broken only by the demon's ragged breaths. He watched dolefully as the angel moved forward, his face unreadable.

Crowley managed a step back but Aziraphale, having finally caught up seized his wrist. The demon gawked at their hands suspiciously. Then he looked back to see Aziraphale's mind running. You could always see it in his eyes. The way he turned his thoughts carefully, meticulously. They stared intently at the other, long seconds tumbled by until the angel snapped his fingers.

In the study, the bouquet of flowers burst into flames. The potted bloom in the conservatory followed swiftly after.

"Now, no more nonsense about leaving you here Crowley." Aziraphale said sternly. He pulled at the demon and was only met with stuttering resistance. The angel drew him into his arms and said quickly over the demon's stunned silence. "I have seen the effects of these flowers. You need to..." he cleared his throat, "You need to expend its effects to purge yourself of it."

Crowley almost laughed. "No shit, Sherlock." he said bitterly.

Aziraphale ignored the quip and soldiered on even as he felt the rising color on his cheeks. "Seeing that you've been exposed to the flower considerably, you will be needing some help." He forced himself too look into the demon's eyes.

His gaze was met with great uncertainty. Crowley also looked liked he was only a hair's breadth away from taking him up on the offer. Extensively. The dancing images in the demon's head came back in full force. Oh yes, _very_ extensively.

Crowley's gravelly voice clearly betrayed him. "Why?"

The angel's eyes softened, "Because I love you too, my darling id --"

His words died in his throat as he felt Crowley suddenly press a bruising kiss against his lips. And oh what a marvel did that feel! The warmth on his skin began to pool together, sliding slowly down his body until it met a place he never had given much thought before. The demon was laving his lips with that tongue of his, sucked at his bottom lip, and Aziraphale suddenly understood why humans so craved this. Why love was not merely forged and done - it was consummated.

He gasped as the demon tore open his new shirt, buttons plinked like coins down on the concrete floor, and he felt Crowley slip in his tongue, tasting him. Aziraphale felt his eyes close from the rapture of _that_ and he began to move his own tongue against the demon, _his_ demon. This time, it was Crowley's turn to gasp in surprise and the pool of warmth settled between his legs positively throbbed.

"Angel," Crowley breathed, feverishly, tenderly, almost reverently. A small smile cracked through the surface finally. It was beautiful and almost chaste. Almost.

"My dear." Aziraphale replied lovingly.

Crowley regarded the angel, _his_ angel now certainly. The smile quickly turned wicked. "You have no idea what's in sssstore for you angel."

Aziraphale's bastard smile did not fail to make the demon's heart leap. "Bring it on demon dear."

* * *

  
Crowley watched Aziraphale sleep with deference. Oh, what did he do to deserve his angel? Something goo- lucky - he supposed. He sighed and smiled contentedly against the crook of his angel's neck. Now _that_ was one way of getting over their thousands year old wall, he mused, thinking of the last 48 hours - or was it 72? More? He wasn't entirely sure anymore. He didn't really care, actually, and his lazy smile turned impish upon his lips. All his scandalous second hand knowledge on the matter paled in comparison to the reality of Aziraphale's eager body against his those hours before they finally fell asleep, completely sated and exhausted.

The smile remained on his lips as the demon closed his eyes and breathed deeply, enjoying Aziraphales warmth, and softness and scent. The old snake of Eden stretched slowly against his partner and settled back once more to wrap his limbs around the angel's sleeping form. The contentment and happiness he felt was unparalleled. He had never considered this a possibility. Never in all the centuries he had been quietly loving the angel.

Aziraphale stirred, and stifled a yawn. "Good morning Crowley." came the sleep addled voice.

"It's five in the afternoon." Crowley teased. "Ish."

"Ahh." came the soft reply, and the demon felt his angel's hand slide slowly down his bare back. "What day is it then?"

"No idea."

"Oh my." Aziraphale said but there wasn't much in the way of worry. Without looking, Crowley could tell that the Angel of the Eastern Gate was smiling. The peace and love he was radiating was enough to fuel the whole of London. "Shall we find something to eat then?"

Crowley nuzzled closer. "Don't wanna."

Aziraphale smiled indulgently, "Maybe later then, my dear." He pressed a kiss to Crowley's forehead. "But I expect to be properly fed later."

"Crepes?"

"That would probably do."

Crowley hid a laugh, "Fine, crepes and gelato. We can stop for sushi before that if you like."

"You know me so well, my dear."

"Biblically now too." Crowley teased.

Aziraphale refused to be fazed, "Yes indeed you do, my dear. Cover to cover, I must say."

It was Crowley who blushed beet red, and Aziraphale laughed heartily as he felt the demon bury his face into his neck.

A wonderful silence eventually settled on them, neither really willing to move. It was after several minutes that Aziraphale spoke up; "Crowley, why ever would Downstairs send you those flowers?"

"They said it was a gift." Crowley reluctantly disentangled himself to sit up with his back to the ornate headboard. He surveyed his wrecked bedroom, all the evidence of their enthusiastic lovemaking stared back at him. He wondered how the rest of his flat fared. "I should send them a thank you note." he leered salaciously.

It was Aziraphale's turn to blush. "Surely, they did not intend it for, for you - with me - us?" he stumbled over his words unable to properly swallow the implications.

Crowley grinned, "They want me to take my job back. Told me to give you my regards." he winked at the floundering angel. "A peace offering perhaps?" he laughed, "Figured out giving me the only thing I ever wanted would convince me to take up the offer."

Aziraphale had sat up, his cheeks were pink with embarrassment. Hell giving Crowley the world's most potent aphrodisiac, for all intents to use on him? Oh dear lord. "I think I need to lie back down again. Hide myself for the next couple of millennia."

"Oh come off it." the demon said as he leaned over to plant a kiss on his angel's pouting lips. "I didn't really understand it; thought they sent me the flowers since they knew I liked plants."

"You like terrorizing plants dear. There's a difference."

Crowley chose to ignore the angel and smiled. "Then the stuff hit me. It hit me hard. Couldn't think of anything else but." he laughed a bit mirthlessly. "Then you had to come, walking in with that hot number. Thought I might discorporate from sheer arousal watching you talk with that collar half open."

"Hot... number?" Aziraphale asked, confused.

"Your outfit. The thing you were wearing." Crowley cleared his throat, unused to complimenting the angel openly. Old habits and all that. He coughed to cover up a blush threatening to blossom on his chest. "Looked good on you."

"Oh!" Aziraphale beamed, "Oh, well. Thank you Crowley." He suddenly felt very proud of himself. Maybe there was something to trying these newfangled things every now and then.

Crowley surveyed his bedroom once more, "Sorry about that though." he thought of whatever remaining shreds of clothing he had torn off the angel hours ago must be laying somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom. "I'll get you new ones."

"Thank you, my dear."

He felt Aziraphale lay a hand on his, and he turned it to lace their fingers together. Crowley turned to the angel watching him with such tenderness. "I - its --" he looked at Aziraphale as if seeing him for the very first time. The late afternoon light that filtered through his windows cast a golden orange glow around the one being he so loved. Aziraphale's eyes burned blue through everything else, and the demon adoringly traced the features oh his angel, remembered his kindness and his complexities and eccentricities, saw the true being living in this corporal form, remembered Aziraphale at the gates of Eden. He still never failed to take his breath away.

Crowley smiled, one that he only gave for Aziraphale. The smile that was honest and vulnerable, a sliver of who he was before the Fall. "Thank you."

The hushed words fell between them as if its own spell. They found themselves drawn together, peering at each other in a new light. Inches apart, Crowley drew his thumb over the angel's cheek as he felt Aziraphale cup his jaw.

Aziraphale's smile brightened in that soft and adoring way he saved only for his demon. "I love you Crowley."

Crowley did not need to hide anymore, he realized. Never anymore. And it made his heart soar. "I love you too angel. I love you."

They brought their lips together, and they kissed, and it was the first day of the rest of the lives.  


* * *

**[The Second Day of the Rest of Their Lives]**

  
Aziraphale puttered about his shop with absent minded giddiness, hands full with books, more knick knacks and a snack, while Crowley hung by the front windows checking on his escapees. The plants trembled though not as much as he would have liked. Few months in the shop and the traitors have began to forget. The demon opened his mouth to say something to rectify the situation but Aziraphale's voice rang through the shop.

"Crowley, dear, I will be in the back for a moment. Help yourself to the bread basket."

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the plants, then turned away. "Sure." he called back. He sauntered slowly over to the angel's desk relishing the bookshop's quiet calm. He probably should admit to Aziraphale out loud now how much he preferred it over his own flat. The demon looked over the neatly arranged items on the angel's desk, scanned over the meticulously written ledger and polished till. The angel's empty winged cup. The small snake plant he gave the angel many years ago stood defiant near the corner. Not exactly very subtle of him, but it was a good indoor plant that was exceptional at breathing out fresh air in the evenings. Low maintenance too. It didn't tremble like the others did.

His eyes wandered over to the sizable basket at one end of the desk. It was brimming with sweet pastries and Crowley picked at them absently. He began transferring them to a platter that wasn't there before, curious to see what kind of blatant bribery Heaven was up to. Breads and confections of different forms and sizes began to fill the miracled plate; donuts, rolls, tarts, scones, cakes. It went on for a while and Crowley did not think the basket would empty until a single item glinted in the light at the very bottom.

Crowley found that curious and wiped his fingers on a miracled kerchief. He wondered for a moment at the warmth fizzing through his fingers when he heard Aziraphale call from the back.

"Could you give me a few more moments? I just couldn't locate --" his voice was muffled for a moment as Crowley guessed the angel had ducked into one of the further stacks.

"Don't worry about it." Crowley yelled back and turned his attention to the mysterious object. He peered into the wicker carrier with some caution then fished it out. He couldn't understand. It was golden and heavy... and lined with white down feathers.

They were handcuffs. A pair of golden handcuffs.

Eyes wide, Crowley's mind began to piece something together. Something that had been niggling at the back of his mind since Aziraphale mentioned the memo from Heaven. Minor tendrils of alarm began to take root. "Aziraphale! Where'd you say that memo was?"

The angel called back; "On the desk, by the ledger." There was a huff. "Could you turn up the AC my dear? Its too hot."

Crowley didn't reply as he circled around the desk with the handcuffs dangling off his hand. He absently snapped his fingers and the air conditioning turned up a notch. The memo was tucked neatly by the corner into the aging notebook. It read as he expected, much the same as hell's note albeit much more politely worded and needlessly lengthy. It was request for the angel to return to active duty. He flipped the card;

> _"Give our kind regards to the demon Crawly."_

It said in elegant copperplate script.

The demon swallowed with rising concern. The tingle in his fingers have not diminished. If anything it had started to feel familiar, rising warmer as the seconds ticked by.

"Aziraphale?" he called out towards the back room. "Aziraphale? Did you er... eat anything from the basket?"

There was no reply, and he began seriously getting worried when the angel appeared at the end of the hall.

"Angel?" Crowley said, as he heard the bookshop's door and windows suddenly lock themselves shut. The shutters drew themselves down. "Aziraphale?" he squeaked.

The angel stalked down the hall slowly as he licked his fingers in way that ratcheted up Crowley's pulse by a half mile. He eyed the handcuffs in Crowley's hand, half forgotten by the demon as Crowley watched the angel sidle up to him in a way he can only call predatory. He couldn't help but be instantly and massively turned on.

"I had an eclair." Aziraphale replied as he came up to the demon. "Absolutely scrumptious." he hissed as his eyes raked slowly over the demon. Crowley didn't know if the angel was talking about him or the pastry.

Aziraphale smiled as he plucked the feathered cuffs from the demon's fingers. He raised a brow.

"It was in the basket." Crowley answered without even knowing it. His throat had suddenly become very dry.

Aziraphale reached up to place a kiss against the demon's jaw and Crowley knew his voice had turned gravelly from anticipation; "Angel?"

"I do think I should take up their offer you know." the angel smiled. He dangled the cuffs before the demon's eyes and winked.

"Ngh." Crowley could only grunt an unintelligible reply as the angel began to pepper his neck with kisses. He felt perfectly manicured hands skim the skin on his waist. When did the angel pull up his shirt? He wasn't quite sure as he stared back into burning blue irises, pupils blown wide with what he was sure now was something in the pastries.

"Crowley, do be a dear and put these on."

Whatever still functioning part of the demon's mind ground to a halt. "Wh - why?"

Aziraphale ground himself closer and slid a cuff around Crowley's left wrist. The resounding click of it echoed in the bookshop. He smiled sweetly as the demon began to feel his knees turn into terribly aroused jelly.

"Well my dear, I am here to collect my just desserts."

\- fin - 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all reading enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I put a lot of symbolism on here, and metaphors for their duality, their yin yang nature. I was itching a bit to write the pr0n parts but I feel this story is better leaving the rest to the imagination. 
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read, and I truly appreciate kind words and comments and constructive criticism. If you make an offshoot from this work, like a connected fic, art or anything, do let me know! I am soooo curious to see :) Please credit, if reposting. 
> 
> Also please do leave a comment if you liked it ♡ It makes me feel happy and maybe inclined to write more. Thank you!


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